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Jacobs,  W.W.  (William  Wymmark) 
The  Ghost  of  Bundler 





c.  1 


French's  International  Copyrighted  (in  Kneland,  her  Colonies,  an. 
t'niu-d  Stales,  Edition  oi  the  Works  of  the  Best  Authors. 


>   1 

- ! 

o  i 




No.  138 








!()\        Prof<  -.-ionaU    and     Amateurs    are    hereby 
warned     that     "Tm-:     (limsi     OF 

being  fully  protected  under  tin-  copyright  laws 
of  the  L'nitcd  Staie>,  is  .subjer*  to  a  royalty, 
and  an\-  tin«4  the  plav  withntu  tl 

rlu-    t)\vin.-rs    «.r    their    author;  .11    be 

liable  to  the  penalties  by  law  provided.     Applications 

,-ssionals  and  Amateur  acting  rights  must  be 

:;uiel     l:rench.  t     45th     Street, 





c.  1 



-e\v  York  : 

\<   II 

London : 

SAMUKL  FRl'-XCH,  Ltd. 
26  Southampton  Street 


A  mystery  thriller  in  3  acts.  By  Arnold  Ridley.  Pro- 
duced originally  at  the  Eltinge  Theatre,  New  York.  7 
males,  4  females,  i  interior  scene.  Modern  costumes. 

The  story  is  laid  in  a  peaceful  village  in  Maine  where  there  lives 
a  superstition  of  twenty  years  standing  about  a  ghost  train  which 
flashes  by  in  the  dead  of  night,  swinging  the  scythe  of  death.  Rum- 
runners use  this  superstition  to  their  own  advantage  in  the  transporta- 
tion of  liquor  from  Canada.  As  the  night  train  draws  into  the  small 
station,  some  passengers  get  off  and  the  train  moves  on.  These 
passengers  are  compelled  to  wait  all  night,  for  they  have  missed  con- 
nections. And  what  a  night  they  spend.  When  the  decrepit  old 
station-master  tells  them  about  the  terrifying  "Ghost  Train,"  bring- 
ing death  to  all  who  observe  it,  they  just  poo-pooh  the  idea.  But 
everything  happens  as  forecast.  The  station-master  is  stricken  dead 
mysteriously.  The  signal  bell  rings.  The  engine  whistles.  The  train 
roars  through  the  junction  and  one  who  rashly  gazes  upon  it  appar- 
ently succumbs.  Lovers  of  mystery  plays  will  find  here  a  piece  to 
their  liking. 

"If  you  want  a  hair-raising,  seat-gripping  ride,  buy  your  tickets 
early  for  'The  Ghost  Train.'  "  New  York  Mirror. 

(Royalty,  fifty  dollars.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  mystery  play  in  3  acts.  By  Fulton  Oursler  and  Lowell 
Brentano.  Produced  originally  at  Channin's  Forty-Sixth 
Street  Theatre  in  New  York.  21  males,  3  females.  5  in- 
terior scenes.  Modern  costumes. 

Here  is  a  novelty,  if  there  ever  was  one,  replete  with  chills  and 
fevers.  The  authors  have  represented  the  dastardly  murder  of  Carring- 
ton,  not  on  the  stage,  but  in  the  audience.  While  Alexander,  assistant 
to  Chatrand  the  Great,  is  reading  the  initials  on  your  watch  the 
lights  go  out,  a  shot  is  fired  and  when  the  lights  go  up  again  Car- 
rington  is  discovered  mortally  wounded  on  a  runway  over  the 
orchestra  pit  ;and  immediately  the  theatre  is  loud  with  excitement. 
Who  fired  the  shot?  As  the  play  goes  on  through  the  succeeding 
scenes,  bringing  doctors  and  policemen  up  the  aisles,  bidding  the 
audience  to  remain  seated,  and  posting  officers  at  every  exit  to  pre- 
vent escape,  suspicion  rests  on  the  magician,  the  girl  and  others. 
Shots  bark  here  and  there.  House  lights  go  on  and  off.  Ghastly 
objects  swing  across  the  darkness;  strange  faces  and  eerie  voices. 
And  all  in  good  time  the  slippery  scoundrel  is  discovered. 

(Royalty,  thirty-five  dollars.)   PRICE  75  CENTS. 





Coi'YRUJHT,    1908,  BY  W.  W.  JACOFS  AND  ClL.RLES  ROCK 

CAUTION:  Professionals  and  amateurs  are  hereby 
warned  that  "THE  GHOST  OF  JERRY  BUNDLER," 
being  fully  protected  under  the  copyright  laws 
of  the  United  States,  is  subject  to  a  royalty, 
and  anyone  presenting  the  play  without  the  consent 
of  the  owners  or  their  authorized  agents  will  be 
liable  to  the  penalties  by  law  provided.  Applications 
for  professional  and  amateur  acting  rights  must  be 
made  to  Samuel  French,  25  West  45th  Street, 
New  York, 

New  York : 

25  West  45th  Street 

London : 


26  Southampton  Street 



Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession  of 
mis  book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production  first 
having  been  obtained  from  the  publisher,  confers  no  right 
or  license  to  professionals  or  amateurs  to  produce  the  play 
publicly  or  in  private  for  gain  or  charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performance,  representation,  produc- 
tion, recitation,  or  public  reading,  or  radio  broadcasting 
may  be  given  except  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel 
French,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York. 

This  play  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment 
of  a  royalty  of  Five  Dollars  for  each  performance, 
payable  to  Samuel  French,  25  West  45th  Street, 
New  York,  one  week  before  the  date  when  the  play  is 

Whenever  the  play  is  produced  the  following  notice  must 
appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and  advertising  for  the 
play:  "Produced  by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel 
French  of  New  York." 

Attention  is  called  to  the  penalty  provided  by  law  for 
any  infringement  of  the  author's  rights,  as  follows. 

"SECTION  4966: — Any  person  publicly  performing  or  rep- 
resenting any  dramatic  or  musical  composition  for  which 
copyright  has  been  obtained,  without  the  consent  of  the 
proprietor  of  said  dramatic  or  musical  composition,  or  his 
heirs  and  assigns,  shall  be  liable  for  damages  thereof,  such 
damages,  in  all  cases  to  be  assessed  at  such  sum,  not  less 
than  one  hundred  dollars  for  the  first  and  fifty  dollars  for 
every  subsequent  performance,  as  to  the  court  shall  appear 
to  be  just.  If  the  unlawful  performance  and  representation 
be  wilful  and  for  profit,  such  person  or  persons  shall  be 
guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction  shall  be  im- 
prisoned for  a  period  not  exceeding  one  year."-— :U.  S. 
Revised  Statutes:  Title  60,  Chap.  3. 


Cast  at  Ube  tmpmarfeet  ZTbeatre. 

SEPT.  9,  1902. 

HIRST Mr.  Cyril  Maude. 

rKNioi.n. Mr.  George  Trollope, 

MALCOLM Mr.  Lewis  Broughtoa 

SOMKRS Mr   Marsh  Allen. 

r.r.i  DON Mr.  H.  Norton. 

DR.  LKKK Mr.  Wilfred  Forster. 

GEORGE  (a  waiter) Mr.  Charles  Rock. 

NOTE.  —Pen fold,  Malcolm,  and  Beldon  represent  different 
types  of  Commercial  Travellers. 

<Dri0inal  Cast. 

PENFOLD Mr.  Holman  Clarke. 

MALCOLM Mr.  Holmes  Gore. 

HIRST Mr.  Cyril  Maude. 

SOMERS Mr.  Frank  Gillmore. 

DOCTOR  LEEK Mr.  C.  M.  Hallard. 

F.i.i.PON Mr.  Cecil  Ramsay. 

GKORC.K  (a  waiter) ...  Mr.  Mark  Kinghorr-e. 

,  >7.  James's  Tlieatre,  London,  June  20,  1899. 

/,'«7/W.     11.  r  .lA/> *///'*  77/r<///v,  J>ine  20,  1902.     Same  cast 
••lit  .]//•.  Fr<inl-    (fi/fniftrf.   ir/iw  fHU't    ir,i*  jf<i>/,<!  by 
Ifr.  C/t<irlm  n»rk.     Tin-  11,  rum  i,  M,rir,i!c  Ji> -H,  tit  Mot i nee. 

Ifai/itt<irJ,;f  Timlin:     S<jit.  0,1902^    Ran  100  performance* 
Avenue  Theatre.    Dec.  20,  1902.    £an88j>erformanca*. 


SCENE.  —  The  Commercial  Room   in  an  old-fashioned 

Jute  I  iii  d  small  country  town.  An  air  of  old-fashioned 
comfort  ts  in  evidence  everywhere.  Old  sporting  prints 
on  the  walls. 

On  the  table  up  c.  are  half  a  dozen  candlesticks,  old-fash' 
ioned  shape  with  snuffer  attached.  Two  pairs  of  car- 
pet slippers  are  set  up  within  fender.  Red  curtains  to 
window  recess.  Shutters  or  blinds  to  windows.  Arm- 
c'lair  and  about  six  other  chairs  in  the  room.  One 
old- fashioned  settle.  O'te  small  tabk.  Clock.  De- 
canter of  water,  Jialf  a  dozen  toddy  tumblers.  Matches, 
etc.  The  only  ligJit  is  a  ruddy  glow  from  the  fire.  '  Ket- 
tle on  hob.  Moonlight  from  R.  of  window  when  shutter 
is  opened.  Pnictical  chandelier  from  ceiling  or  lights 
at  side  of  mantelpiece.  DOCTOR'S  coat  and  muffler  on. 
chair  up  L.,  his  cap  on  mantelpiece. 

All  lights  out,  dark  stage.  Opening  music.  Curtain 
rise — ticking  of  clock  heard.  M'ind^  then  church  flock 
chimes,  the  Lights  come  very  slowly  up,  when  the  red 
glow  is  seen  in  the  fireplace,  the  low  murmurs  of  the 
characters  heard)  and  gradually  get  louder  as  lights 
come  up  to  when  SOMKRS'  voice  tops  all. 

{T/ic  stage  occupied  by  all  characters  except  GEORGE   the 

Vr.      /V.Qvrvv,/,  l'r.\i  01  i>,  sitting  in  arm  chair  L. 

of  fin\  al'orc  it.      Doriou    I.KKK   standing  above  fire 

and  leaning   on  mantelshelf.     HIRST  sitting  on  settle 



below  fire  and  nearest  to  audience.  SOMERS  seated  on 
settle  with  him  but  above  him.  MALCOLM  and  BEL- 
DON  on  chairs  R.  c.,  facing  fire.  ALL  are  smoking, 
and  drink  from  their  respective  glasses  from  time  to 
time.  SOMERS  has  just  finished  a  story  as  Curtain 
rises. ) 

OMNES.     Oh,  I  say,  that  sounds  impossible,  etc. 

SOMERS.  Haunted  or  not  haunted,  the  fact  remains 
that  no  one  stays  in  the  house  long.  It's  been  let  to 
several  tenants  since  the  time  of  the  murder,  but  they 
never  completed  their  tenancy.  The  last  tenant  held 
out  for  a  month,  but  at  last  he  gave  up  like  the  rest, 
and  cleared  out,  although  he  had  done  the  place  up 
thoroughly,  and  must  have  been  pounds  out  of  pocket 
by  the  transaction. 

MALCOLM.  Well,  it's  a  capital  ghost  story,  I  admit, 
that  is,  as  a  story,  but  I  for  one  can't  swallow  it. 

HIRST.  I  don't  know,  it  is  not  nearly  so  improb* 
able  as  some  I  have  heard.  Of  course  it's  an  old 
idea  that  spirits  like  to  get  into  the  company  of  human 
beings.  A  man  told  me  once,  that  he  travelled  down 
by  the  Great  Western,  with  a  ghost  as  fellow  passenger, 
and  hadn't  the  slightest  suspicion  of  it,  until  the  in- 
spector came  for  tickets.  My  friend  said,  the  way  that 
ghost  tried  to  keep  up  appearances,  by  feeling  in  all  its 
pockets,  and  even  looking  on  the  floor  for  its  ticket, 
was  quite  touching.  Ultimately  it  gave  it  up,  and  with 
a  loud  groan  vanished  through  the  ventilator. 

(SOMERS,  MALCOLM  and  LEEIC  laugh  heartily^) 

BELDON      Oh,  I  say  come  iiow,  that'll  do. 

PENFOLD  (seriously}.  Personally  I  don't  think  it's 
a  subject  for  jesting.  I  have  never  seen  an  apparition 
myself,  but  I  have  known  people  who  have,  and  I  con- 
sider that  they  form  a  veiy  interesting  link  between  us 
and  the  after  life.  There's  a  ghost  story  connected 
with  this  house,  you  know. 


OMNES.     Eh!     Oh?     Really! 

MALCOLM  (rising  atnl  going  to  mantelpiece,  takes  up 
his  glass  of  toddy}.  Well,  I  have  used  this  house  for 
sonic  years  now.  I  travel  for  Blennet  and  Burgess  — 
wool  —  and  come  here  regularly  three  times  a  year,  and 
1'vr  never  heard  of  it.  (Sits  down  again  on  his  chair  , 
holding  glass  in  his  hand.) 

LKKK.  And  I've  been  here  pretty  often  too,  though 
I  have  only  been  in  practice  here  for  a  couple  of  years, 
and  I  have  never  heard  it  mentioned,  and  I  must  say  I 
don't  believe  in  anything  of  the  sort.  In  my  opinion 
ghosts  are  the  invention  of  weak-minded  idiots. 

PENFOLD.  Weak-minded  idiots  or  not,  there  is  a 
ghost  story  connected  with  this  house,  but  it  dates  a 
long  time  back. 

(GEORGE,  the  waiter  •,  enters  D.  L.  with  tray  and 

Oh,  here's  George,  he'll  bear  me  out.     You've  heard  of 
Jerry  Bundler,  George  ? 

GEORGE  (c.).  Well,  I've  just  'card  odds  and  ends, 
sir,  but  I  never  put  much  count  to  'em.  There  was 
one  chap  'ere,  who  was  under  me  when  fust  I  come,  he 
said  he  seed  it,  and  the  Guv'nor  sacked  him  there  and 
then.  (Goes  to  table  by  window  r,  puts  tray  down,  takes 
up  glass  and  wipes  it  slowly.) 

(MEN  laugh.) 

PENFOLD.  Well,  my  father  was  a  native  of  this 
town,  and  he  knew  the  story  well.  He  was  a  truthful 
man  and  a  steady  churchgoer.  But  I  have  heard  him 
declare  that  once  in  his  life  he  saw  the  ghost  of  Jerry 
Bundler  in  this  house  ;  let  me  see,  George,  you  don't 
remember  my  old  dad,  do  you? 

(GEORGE  puts  down  glasses  orer  table.) 

No,   sir.     I   come   here  forty  years    ago 
next  Easter,  but  I  fancy  he  was  before  my  time. 


PENFOLD.  Yes,  though  not  by  long.  He  died  when 
I  was  twenty,  and  I  shall  be  sixty-two  next  month,  but 
that's  neither  here  nor  there. 

(GEORGE  goes  tip  to  table  c.  tidying  up  and  listening.) 

LEEK.     Who  was  this  Jerry  Bundler  ? 

PENFOLD.  A  London  thief,  pickpocket,  highway- 
man— anything  he  could  turn  his  dishonest  ha/)d  to, 
and  he  was  run  to  earth  in  this  house  some  eighty 
years  ago. 

(GEORGE  puts  glass  down  and  stands  listening.) 
He  took  his  last  supper  in  this  room. 

(PENFOLD  leans  forward.     BELDON  looks  round  to 
L.  nervously) 

That. night  soon  after  he  had  gone  to  bed,  a  couple  of 
Bow  Street  runners,  the  predecessors  of  our  present 
detective  force  turned  up  here.  They  had  followed 
him  from  London,  but  had  lost  scent  a  bit,  so  didn't 
arrive  till  late.  A  word  to  the  landlord,  whose  descrip- 
tion of  the  stranger  who  had  retired  to  rest,  pointed  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  the  man  they  were  after,  of  course 
enlisted  his  aid  and  that  of  the  male  servants  and 
stable  hands.  The  officers  crept  quietly  up  to  Jerry's 
bedroom  and  tried  the  door,  it  wouldn't  budge.  It  was 
of  heavy  oak  and  bolted  from  within. 

(OMNES  lean  forward,  showing  interest.} 

Leaving  his  comrade  and  a  couple  of  grooms  to  guard 
the  bedroom  door,  the  other  officer  went  into  the  yard, 
and,  procuring  a  short  ladder,  by  this  means  reached 
the  window  of  the  room  in  which  Jerry  was  sleeping. 
The  Inn  servants  and  stable  hands  saw  him  get  on  to 
the  sill  and. try  to  open  the  window.  Suddenly  there 
was  a  crash  of  glass,  and  with  a  cry,  he  fell  in  a  heap 
on  to  the  stones  at  their  feet.  Then  in  the  moonlight, 


they  saw  the  face  of  the  highwayman  peering  over  the 

(OMNES  move  uneasily.) 

They  sent  for  the  blacksmith,  and  with  his  sledge-ham- 
mer he  battered  in  the  strong  oak  panels,  and  the  first 
thing  that  met  their  eyes  was  the  body  of  Jerry  Bundler 
dangling  from  the  top  of  the  four-post  bed  by  his  own 

(OMNES  sit  back,  draw   their  breath,  and  arc  generally 
uneasy.     Slight  paused) 

SOMERS.     I  say,  which  bedroom  was  it  ?  (JSamestfy). 

PENFOLD.  That  I  can't  tell  you,  but  the  story  goes 
that  Jerry  still  haunts  this  house,  and  my  father  used  to 
declare  positively  that  the  last  time  he  slept  here,  the 
ghost  of  Jerry  Bundler  lowered  itself  from  the  top  of 
his  four-post  bed  and  tried  to  strangle  him. 

UELDON  {jumps  np,  gets  behind  his  chair,  twists 
chair  round ;  nervously).  O,  I  say,  that'll  do.  I  wish 
you'd  thought  to  ask  your  father  which  bedroom  it 

PENFOLD.     What  for  ? 

BELDON.  Wt.  11,  I  should  take  jolly  good  care  not 
to  sleep  in  it,  that's  all.  {Goes  to  back.) 

(PENFOLD   rising,  goes  to  fire,  and  knocks  out  his  pipe> 
LKKK  gets   by  arm-'-hair.) 

PENFOLD.  There's  nothing  to  fear.  I  don't  believe 
for  a  moment  that  ghosts  could  really  hurt  one. 
(CiK.ouc.K  li^/its  candle  at  table.}  In  fact,  my  father 
used  to  say  that  it  was  only  the  unpleasantness  of  the 
thing  that  upset  him,  and  that,  for  all  practical  pur- 
,  Jerry's  fingers  might  have  been  made  of  cotton 
wool  for  all  the  harm  they  could  do. 

hands   candle,  gets  to  door  and  holds  it  open.) 

That's  all   very   fine,  a  ghost   story  is  a 
ghost  story,   but  when  a  gentleman  tells  a  tale  of  a 


ghost  that  haunts  the  house  in  which  one  is   going  to 
sleep,  I  call  it  most  ungentlemanly. 

fl/aces  his  chair  to  L.  of  table  R.  PENFOLD  goes 
up  to  c.    LEEK  sits  in   ar^  chair.     BELDON  goes  to 

PENFOLD.     Pooh  !  Nonsense.     (At  table  up  C.). 
(During  his  speech  GEORGE  lights  one  of  the  candles.) 

Ghosts  can't  hurt  you.     For  my  own  part,   I    should 
rather  like  to  see  one. 

OMNES.     Oh,  come  now  --  etc. 

PENFOLD.     Well,  I'll  bid  you  good-night,  gentlemen, 

(He  goes  towards  door  L.  GEORGE  opens  it  for  him  ;  ht 
passes  out  as  they  all  say.) 

OMNES.     Good-night. 

(HIRST  rises  ,  crosses  to  L.  c.) 

BELDON  (up  R.,  calling  after  him).  And  I  hope 
Jerry'll  pay  you  a  visit. 

MALCOLM  (rises,  goes  to  fere].  Well,  I'm  going  to 
have  another  whisky  if  you  gentlemen  will  join  me.  I 
think  it'll  do  us  all  good  after  that  tale.  George,  take 
the  orders. 

(GEORGE  comes  down  with  salver  to  table  R.,  gathers  up 

SOMERS.     Not  quite  so  much  hot  water  in  mine. 
MALCOLM.     I'll  have  the  same  again,  George. 
BELDON.     A  leetle  bit  of  lemon  in  mine,  George. 
LEEK.     Whisky  and  soda  for  me,  please. 
HIRST.     Whisky  ! 

(GEORGE  goes  to  table  R.,  collects  glasses,  crosses  to  door 
L.  speaks.) 

GEORGE  (to  MALCOLM).  Shall  I  light  the  gas,  Mr. 
Malcolm  ?  (At  door.  \ 


MALCOLM.  No,  the  fire's  very  comfortable,  unless 
any  of  you  gentlemen  prefer  the  gas. 

OMNES.     No,  not  at  all — etc. 

MALCOLM.  Never  mind,  George.  {This to  GEORGE 
as  no  one  wants  the  gas.)  The  firelight  is  pleasanter. 

(Exit  GEORGE  for  orders  L.) 
(BELDON  gets  c.) 

MALCOLM  (at  fire).  Does  any  gentleman  know 
another ? 

SOMERS  (seated  R.).  Well,  I  remember  hear- 

BELDON     (///  c.).     Oh,  I  say— that'll  do. 

(OMNES  laugh.) 

LEEK.  Yes,  I  think  you  all  look  as  if  you'd  heard 
enough  ghost  stories  to  do  you  the  rest  of  your  lives. 
And  you're  not  all  as  anxious  to  see  the  real  article  as 
the  old  gentleman  who's  just  gone. 

HIRST  (looking  to  L.).  Old  humbug  1  I  should 
like  to  put  him  to  the  test,  (c.)  (Bus.)  I  say,  suppose 
I  dress  up  as  Jerry  Bundler  and  go  and  give  him  a 
chance  of  displaying  his  courage  ?  I  bet  I'd  make  the 
old  party  sit  up. 

MALCOLM.     Capital  ! 

BELDON.     A  good  idea. 

LKKK.     I  shouldn't,  if  I  were  you. 

HIRST.     Just  for  the  joke,  gentlemen  (c.). 

SOMERS.     No,  no — drop  it,  Hirst. 

HIRST.  Only  for  the  joke.  Look  here,  I've  got 
some  things  that'll  do  very  well.  We're  going  to  have 
some  amateur  theatricals  at  my  house.  We're  doing  a 
couple  of  scenes  from  "  The  Rivals,"  Somers,  (point- 
ing to  SOMERS)  and  I  have  been  up  to  town  to,get  the 
costumes,  wigs,  etc.,  to-day.  I've  got  them  up-stairs — 
knee-breeches,  stockings,  buckled  shoes,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  It's  a  rare  chance.  If  you  wait  a  bit. 


I'll  give  you  a  full  dress  rehearsal,  entitled  "Jerry 
Bundler,  or  the  Nocturnal  Stranger."  (At  door  L.). 

LEEK  (sneeringly).  You  won't  frighten  us,  will 

HIRST.  I  don't  know  so  much  about  that — it's  a 
question  of  acting,  that's  all. 

MALCOLM.  I'll  bet  you  a  level  sov,  you  don't 
frighten  me. 

HIRST  (quietly}.  A  level  sov.  (Pauses.}  Done. 
I'll  take  the  bet  to  frighten  you  first,  and  the  old  boy 
afterwards.  These  gentlemen  shall  be  the  judges. 
(Points  to  LEEK  and  BELDON.) 

BELDON  (up  c.).  You  won't  frighten  us  because 
we're  prepared  for  you,  but  you'd  better  leave  the  old 
man  alone.  It's  dangerous  play.  (Appeals  to  LEEK). 

HIRST.  Well,  I'll  try  you  first.  (Moves  to  door  and 
pauses.')  No  gas,  mind. 

OMNES.     No  !  no  ! 

HIRST  (laughs).  I'll  give  you  a  run  for  your 

(GEORGE  enters,  holds  door  open.) 
(Exit  HIRST.) 

(GEORGE  passes  drinks  round.  Five  drinks.  SOMERS 
takes  the  one  ordered  for  HIRST  and  puts  it  on  the 
table  R.  BELDON  sits  R.  c.  GEORGE  crosses  to  table, 
puts  two  drinks  down,  goes  to  fire  and  gives  drinks, 
then  up  to  table,  puts  tray  down,  takes  up  glass  and 
begins  to  wipe  it,  gets  down  L.  for  lines.) 

LEEK  (to  MALCOLM).  I  think  you'll  win  your  bet, 
sir,  but  I  vote  we  give  him  a  chance.  Suppose  we 
have  cigars  round,  and  if  he's  net  back  by  the  time 
we've  finished  them  I  must  be  off,  as  I  have  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  walk  before  me.  (Looks  at  watch.)  He's 
a  friend  of  yours,  isn't  he  ? 

SOMERS.  Yes,  I  have  known  him  a  good  many 
years  now,  and  I  must  say  he's  a  rum  chap ;  just  crazy 


about  acting  and  practical  joking,  though  I've  often 
told  him  he  carries  the  hitter  too  far  at  times.  In  this 
case  it  doesn't  matter,  but  I  won't  let  him  try  it  on  the 
old  gentleman.  You  see  we  know  what  he's  going  to 
do,  and  are  prepared,  but  he  doesn't,  and  it  might  lead 
to  illness  or  worse  ;  the  old  chap's  sixty-two  and  such 
a  shock  might  have  serious  consequences.  But  Hirst 
won't  mind  giving  up  that  part  of  it,  so  long  as  he  gets 
in  opportunity  of  acting  to  us. 

LKKK.  (knocks  pipe  on  grate r  Well,  I  hope  he'll 
burry  up.  It's  getting  pretty  late.  (To  SOMKRS.) 

MALCOLM.     Well,  gentlemen,  your  health  1^ 

SOMERS.     Good  luck. 

LEEK.     Hurrah  1 

BELDON.     Chin-chin  ! 

LEEK.  By  the  way,  how  is  it  you  happen  to  be 
here  to-night  ? 

SOMERS.  Oh,  we  missed  the  connection  at  Tolles- 
ton  Junction  and  as  the  accommodation  at  the  Railway 
Arms  there  was  rather  meagre,  the  Station  Master  ad- 
vised us  to  drive  on  here,  put  up  for  the  night,  and 
catch  the  Great  Northern  express  from  Exton  in  the 
morning.  (Rises,  crosses  to  L.)  Oh,  George,  that 
reminds  me — you  might  see  that  '  Boots  '  calls  us  at  7 

(BELDON  rises  t  goes  up  to  them  to  fire.") 

GEORGE.     Certainly,  sir.     What  are  your  numbers  ? 

SOMERS.     13  and  14. 

GEORGE.  I'll  put  it  on  the  slate,  special,  sir.  (Goes 
to  door  L.) 

LEEK.  I  beg  pardon,  gentlemen,  I  forgot  the  cig- 
ars ;  George,  bring  some  cigars  back  with  you. 

BELDON.     A  very  mild  one  for  me. 

GEORGE.  Very  well,  sir.  (Takes  up  tray  from  side- 

(Exit  L.) 

CSOMERS  SltS  R.  C.) 


MALCOLM.  I  think  you  were  very  wise  coming  on 
here.  (Sits  on  settle  R.)  I  stayed  att  he  Railway 
Arms,  Tolleston,  once — never  again  though.  Is  your 
friend  clever  at  acting  ? 

SOMERS.  I  don't  think  he's  clever  enough  to  frighten 
you.  I'm  to  spend  Christmas  at  his  place,  and  he's 
asked  me  to  assist  at  the  theatricals  he  spoke  of. 
Nothing  would  satisfy  him  till  I  consented,  and  I 
must  honestly  say  I  am  very  sorry  I  ever  did,  for  I 
expect  I  shall  be  pretty  bad.  I  know  I  have  scarcely 
slept  a  wink  these  last  few  nights,  trying  to  get  the 
words  into  my  head. 

(GEORGE  enters  backwards,  pale  and  trembling?) 

MALCOLM.  Why!  Look — what  the  devil's  the 
matter  with  George  ?  (Crosses  to  GEORGE.) 

GEORGE.     I've    seen    it,    gentlemen.      (Down   stage 

L.  C.) 

OMNES.     Seen  who  ? 

(BELDON    down  R.    edge  of  table  R.      LEEK  up   R.    c. 
SOMERS  up  R.) 

GEORGE.     The  ghost.     Jer — Bun — 

MALCOLM.     Why,  you're  frightened,  George. 

GEORGE.  Yes,  sir.  It  was  the  suddenness  of  it, 
and  besides  I  didn't  look  for  seeing  it  in  the  bar. 
There  was  only  a  glimmer  of  light  there,  and  it  was 
sitting  on  the  floor.  I  nearly  touched  it. 

MALCOLM  (goes  to  door,  looks  ojf,  then  returns — to 
others).  It  must  be  Hirst  up  to  his  tricks.  George 
was  out  of  the  room  when  he  suggested  it.  (To 
GEORGE.)  Pull  yourself  together,  man. 

GEORGE.  Yes,  sir — but  it  took  me  unawares.  I'd 
never  have  gone  to  the  bar  by  myself  if  I'd  known  it 
was  there,  and  I  don't  believe  you  would,  either,  sir. 

MALCOLM.  Nonsense,  I'll  go  and  fetch  him  in. 
(Crosses  to  L.) 

GEORGE  (clutching  him  by  the  sleeve).  You  don't 
know  what  it's  like,  sir.  It  ain't  fit  to  look  at  by  your- 


self,  it  ain't   indeed.     It's  got  the  awfullest  deathlike 
face,  and  short  cropped  red  hair — it's — 

(Smothered  cry  i<  he  ird) 
What's  that  ?     (Backs  to  C  and  leans  on  chair!) 

(ALL  start,  and  a  quick  pattering  of  footsteps  is  heard 
rapidly  approaching  the  room.  The  door  flies  open 
and  \\.\KSV  flings  himself  gasping  and  shivering  into 
MALCOLM'S  arms.  The  door  remains  open.  He  has 
only  his  trousers  and  shirt  0/1,  his  face  very  white 
with  fear  and  his  own  hair  all  standing  on  end. 
LEEK  lights  the  gas >  then  goes  to  R.  of  HIRST.) 

OMNES.     What's  the  matter  ? 
MALCOLM.     Why,  it's  Hirst. 

(Shakes  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder.)  • 

What's  up  ? 

HIRST.  I've  seen — oh,  Lord  1  I'll  never  play  the 
fool  again.  (Goes  c.) 

OTHERS.     Seen  what  ? 

HIRST.     Him — it — the  ghost — anything. 

MALCOLM  (uneasily}.     Rot ! 

HIRST.  I  was  coming  down  the  stairs  to  get  some* 
thing  I'd  forgotten,  when  I  felt  a  tap — (He  breaks  ojf 
suddenly  gazing  through  opc?i  door.}  I  thought  I  saw 
it  again — Look — at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  can't  you 
see  anything?  (Shaking  LEEK.) 

LEEK  (crosses  to  door  peering  down  passage).  No, 
there's  nothing  there.  (Stays  up  L.) 

(HiRST£7zw  a  sigh  of  relief  ) 

MALCOLM     (L.  c.).     Go  on — you  felt  a  tap— 
HIRST     (c.).     I  turned  and  saw  it — a  little  wicked 

head   with  short   red  hair — and  a  white  dead  face — 


(Clock  chimes  three-quarters.) 

(They  assist  him  into  chair  L.  of  table  R.) 


GEORGE  (up  c.).  That's  what  I  saw  in  the  bar — 
'orrid — it  was  devilish.  (Coming  c.) 

(MALCOLM  crosses  to  L.     HIRST  shudders.} 

MALCOLM.  Weil,  it's  a  most  unaccountable  thing. 
It's  the  last  time  I  come  to  this  house.  (Goes  to  R.  of 

GEORGE.  I  leave  to-morrow.  I  wouldn't  go  down 
to  that  bar  alone — no,  not  for  fifty  pounds.  (Goes  up 
R.  to  arm-chair.) 

SQMERS  (crosses  to  door^.  then  returns  to  R.  c.).  It's 
talking  about  the  thing  that's  caused  it,  I  expeet 
We've  had  it  in  our  minds,  and  we've  been  practi- 
cally forming  a  spiritualistic  circle  without  knowing  it. 
(Goes  to  back  of  table  R.) 

%    BELDON  (crosses  to  R.  c.).     Hang  the  old  gentleman. 
Upon  my  soul  I'm  half  afraid  to  go  to  bed. 

MALCOLM.  Doctor,  it's  odd  they  should  both  think 
they  saw  something. 

(They  both  drop  down  L.  c.) 

GEORGE  (up  c.).  I  saw  it  as  plainly  as  I  see  you,  sir. 
P'raps  if  you  keep  your  eyes  turned  up  the  passage 
you'll  see  it  for  yourself.  (Points.} 

(They  all  look.     BELDON  goes  to  SOMERS.) 

BELDON.     There — what  was  that  ? 

MALCOLM.     Who'll  go  with  me  to  the  bar! 

LEEK.     I  will.     (Goes  to  door} 

BELDON  (gulps}.  So — will  I.  (Crosses  to  door  L 
They  go  to  the  door.  To  MALCOLM.)  After  you,  (They 
slowly  pass  into  the  passage.  GEORGE  watching  them. 
All  exit  except  HIRST  and  SOMERS.) 

SOMERS.     How  do  you  feel  now,  old  man  ? 

HIRST  (changing  his  frightened  manner  to  one  of  as- 
surance}. Splendid  ! 

SOMERS.     But — (a  step  back} 

HIRST.     I  tell  you  I  feel  splendid. 

Til  i:  ( ! H<  >ST  OF  JERRY  BUNDLER.  15 

SOMKRS.      Hut  the  ghost — (Sfr/>s  back  to  c.) 

1 1  IKS  i'.  \\V11,  upon  my  word,  Somers — you're  not 
as  sharp  as  I  thought  you. 

SOMKRS.      What  do  you  mean? 

HlRST.  Why,  that  I  was  the  ghost  George  saw. 
(Ov/.v.\v.v  to  L.  c.)  By  Jove,  he  was  in  a  funk  1  I  fol- 
Unu'd  him  to  the  door  and  overheard  his  description 
of  what  he'd  seen,  then  I  burst  in  myself  and  pretended 
I'd  seen  it  too.  I'm  going  to  win  that,  bet — (VOICES 
heard.  Crosses  to  R.)  Look  out,  they're  coming  back. 

SOMKKS.      Yes,  but 

HIRST.      Don't  give  me  away — hush  I 

(Re-enter  MALCOLM,  LKEK,  BKLDOX  and  GEORGE  L.) 
(I>Ki,DON  and  GEORGE  £#  up  to  back  c.) 

HIRST.  Did  you  see  it?  (///  his  frightened  man- 

MALCOLM  (c.)  I  don't  know — I  thought  I  saw 
something,  but  it  might  have  been  fancy.  I'm  in  the 
mood  to  see  anything  just  now.  (To  HIRST.)  How 
are  you  feeling  now,  sir  ?  " 

HIRST.  Oh,  I  feel  a  bit  better  now.  I  daresay  you 
think  I'm  easily  scared — but  you  didn't  see  it. 

MALCOLM.  Well,  I'm  not  quite  sure.  (Goes  to 

LEEK.  You've  had  a  bit  of  a  shock.  Best  thing 
you  can  do  is  to  go  to  bed. 

HIRST  (finishing  Jiis  drink).  Very  well.  Will  you, 
(tises)  share  my  room  with  me,  Somers? 

(GEORGE  lights  two  candles) 

SOMERS  (crosses  to  L.  c.).  I  will  with  pleasure. 
(Gets  up  to  tab!.:  r.  and  gets  a  candle}.  Provided  you 
don't  mind  sleeping  with  the  gas  full  on  all  night. 
(Goes  to  door  L.) 

LEEK  (to  HIRST).  You'll  be  all  right  in  the  morn- 


HIRST.     Good  night,  all.     (As  he  crosses  to  door) 
OMNES.     Good  night. 

(ALL  talking  at  fire,  not  looking  to  L.  as  HIRST  and 
SOMERS  exeunt,  HIRST  chuckles  and  gives  SOMERS  a 
sly  dig.} 

SOMERS.     Good  night. 

MALCOLM  (at  fireplace).  Well,  I  suppose  the  bet's 
off,  though  as  far  as  I  can  see  I  won  it.  I  never  saw 
a  man  so  scared  in  all  my  life.  Sort  of  poetic  justice 
about  it.  (LEEK  with  revolver  in  his  hand,  is  just 
putting  it  into  his  pocket.  Seeing  him.)  Why,  what's 
that  you've  got  there  ? 

LEEK.  A  revolver.  (At  fire)  You  see  I  do  a  lot 
of  night  driving,  visiting  patients  in  outlying  districts 
— they're  a  tough  lot  round  here,  and  one  never  knows 
what  might  happen,  so  I  have  been  accustomed  to 
carry  it.  I  just  pulled  it  out  so  as  to  have  it  handy. 
I  meant  to  have  a  pot  at  that  ghost  if  I  had  seen  him. 
There's  no  law  against  it,  is  there  ?  I  never  heard  of 
a  close  time  for  ghosts. 

BELDON. — Oh,  I  say,  never  mind  ghosts.  VJ\\\  you 
share  my  room  ?  (To  MALCOLM.) 

(GEORGE  comes  down  a  little,  holding  candle). 

MALCOLM.  With  pleasure.  I'm  not  exactly  fright- 
ened, but  I'd  sooner  have  company,  and  I  daresay 
George  here  would  be  glad  to  be  allowed  to  make  up  a 
bed  on  the  floor. 

BELDON.     Certainly. 

MALCOLM.  Well,  that's  settled.  A  majority  of  three 
to  one  ought  to  stop  any  ghost.  Will  that  arrangement 
suit  you,  George  ? 

GEORGE.  Thank  you,  sir.  And  if  you  gentlemen 
would  kindly  come  down  to  the  bar  with  me  while  I 
put  out  the  gas.  I  could  never  be  sufficiently  grateful, 
and  when  (at  door)  we  come  back  we  can  let  the 
Doctor  out  at  the  front  door.  Will  that  do,  sir  ? 


I.KKK.  All  right;  I'll  be  getting  my  coat  on 
(GEOKC.E  gets  to  door.  They  exit  at  door  \..  LI-KK  picks 
up  his  coat  off  chair  up  i..,  puts  it  on  and  then  turns  up 
trousers,  footsteps  heard  in  flies,  then  goes  to  the  win- 
dow* R. ,/«//r  curtain  aside  and  opens  tlie  shutters  of  the 
window  nearest  the  fire.  A  flood  of  moonlight  streams 
in  from  R.  Clock  strikes  twelve.)  By  Jove,  \vhat  a 
lovely  night.  That  poor  devil  did  get  a  fright,  and  no 
mistake.  (Crossing  down  to  fireplace  for  his  cap  which 
is  on  the  mantelpiece.  MALCOLM,  BELDON  and  GEORGE 
return — the  door  closes  after  them.)  Well,  no  sign  of  it, 

fh  ? 

MALCOLM.  No,  we've  seen  nothing  this  time. 
Here,  give  me  the  candle,  George,  while  you  turn  out 
the  gas. 

LEEK.  All  right,  George,  I'll  put  this  one  out. 
(Turns  out  gas  below  fire) 

(MALCOLM  and  BELDON  are  ///  at  sideboard,  GEORGE 
having  put  the  other  gas  out,  goes  up  to  them  and  is 
just  lighting  the  candles  for  them.  The  DOCTOR  is 
filling  his  pipe  at  mantel-shelf,  and  stooping  to  get  a 
light  with  a  paper  spill.  LEEK  whistles  and  lights 
spill.  The  handle  of  the  door  is  heard  moving. 
O.MNES  stand  motionless — MALCOLM  and  BELDON 
very  frightened.  They  all  watch.  The  room  is  lit 
only  by  the  fire-light  which  is  very  much  fainter  than 
it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  play,  by  the  candle 
which  GEORGE  holds,  and  by  the  flood  of  moonlight 
from  tJic  window.) 

(ri7ie  door  slowly  opens,  a  hand  is  seen,  then  a  figure  ap- 
pear* in  dark  breeches,  white  stockings,  buckled  shoes, 
white  shirt,  very  neat  in  every  detail,  with  a  long  white 
or  spotted  handkerchief  tied  round  the  neck,  the  long  end 
hanging  down  in  front.  The  face  cadaverous,  with 
sunken  eyes  and  a  leering  smile,  and  close  cropped  red 
hair.  The  figure  blinks  at  the  candle,  then  slowly 
raises  its  hands  and  unties  the  handkerchief,  its  hsad 


falls  on  to  one  shoulder,  it  holds  handkerchief  out  at 
arm's  length  and  advances  towards  MALCOLM.) 



LEEK        BELDON        MALCOLM 
Fire  HIRST 

[Just  as  the  figure  reaches  the  place  where  the  moon~ 
beams  touch  the  floor ;  LEEKyfrn1 — he  has  very  quietly 
and  unobtrusively  drawn  his  revolver.  GEORGE  drops 
the  candle  and  the  figure,  writhing,  drops  to  the 
fioor.  It  coughs  once  a  choking  cough.  MALCOLM 
goes  sloivly  forward,  touches  it  with  his  foot,  and 
kneels  by  figure,  lifts  figure  up,  gazes  at  it,  and  pulls 
the  red  wig  off,  discovering  HIRST.  MALCOLM  gasps 
out  "DOCTOR."  LEEK  places  the  revolver  on  chair, 
kneels  behind  HIRST.  MALCOLM  is  L.  c.,  kneeling. 
At  this  moment  SOMERS  enters  very  brightly  with 
lighted  candle]. 

SOMERS.  Well,  did  Hirst  win  his  bet?  (Seeing 
HIRST  on  floor,  he  realizes  the  matter).  My  God,  you 
didn't — I  told  him  not  to.  I  told  him  not  to  !  1  I 
told  him — -falls  fainting  into  arms  of  GEORGE. 




(kneeling)       (seated  (kneeling)        (at  door  L.) 
on  fioor) 

NOTE.  When  played  at  The  Haymarket  the  piece 
finished  with  a  different  ending  as  given  below.  MR. 
CYRIL  MAUDE  fearing  the  above  tragic  termination  would 
be  too  serious. 


from  SOMERS'  entrance. 

SOMKRS  enters  w;th  lighted  candle,  and  exclaims  very 

SOMERS.     Well,  did  Hirst  win  his  bet  ? 
Slight  pause. 

HIRST  (suddenly  sitting  ///).  Yes.  (Turning  to  DR. 
LEEK.)  You're,  a  damned  bad  shot,  Doctor.  (Then 
&  MALCOLM.)  And  I'll  trouble  you  for  that  sovereign, 

The  rtmwwig  Characters  express  astonishment. 



A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  May  Tully.  Produced  originally 
at  the  Bijou  Theatre,  New  York.  6  males,  4  females,  i  in- 
terior, i  exterior  scene.  Modern  costumes. 

This  brisk  and  peppery  farce  is  one  of  the  cleanest  and  most  hilari- 
ously amusing  plays  of  recent  years.  It  is  the  story  of  ambitious  but 
impecunious  youth.  "Doc"  Hampton,  without  a  patient,  "Stocksie," 
a  lawyer  devoid  of  clients,  and  "Chub"  Perkins,  a  financier  without 
capital,  are  in  a  bad  way.  In  fact,  they  are  broke  and  it  is  a  real 
problem  for  them  actually  to  get  food.  Mary  Jane  Smith  is  the 
heroine  with  the  ankle.  The  three  pals  meet  her  first  as  a  solicitor  of 
funds  for  the  poor  and  again  as  the  victim  of  an  automobile  accident. 

A  rich  relative,  "Doc's"  uncle,  inclined  to  be  a  tightwad  but  good 
at  heart,  comes  upon  the  scene  and  seeing  Mary,  immediately  takes  it 
for  granted  that  she  is  his  nephew's  wife,  having  been  informed  by 
a  bogus  wedding  invitation  that  the  ceremony  had  just  taken  place. 
The  fictitious  wedding  had  been  arranged  by  the  boys  in  a  moment 
of  need  in  order  to  get  "Doc's"  family  in  the  West  to  send  on  wed- 
ding presents  that  could  be  pawned.  As  his  wedding  present,  the 
Uncle  insists  that  "Doc"  and  Mary  accompany  him  to  Bermuda.  The 
situation  is  tense,  but  Mary  has  a  sense  of  humor,  and  saves  the  day. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  William  Ford  Manley.  Pro- 
duced originally  at  the  Times  Square  Theatre,  New  York. 
30  males,  15  females.  4  interior  scenes.  Modern  costumes. 

A  rollicking  farce  about  what  transpires  behind  the  microphone  of 
a  broadcasting  studio.  The  most  popular  singing  artist  in  Station 
WWVW  is  Roy  Denny.  Through  some  mischance  it  comes  about  that 
the  Denny  "golden  voice"  is  really  John  Duffy.  Duffy,  being  a 
nervous  lad,  has  always  failed  miserably  from  microphone  fright 
whenever  he  has  attempted  to  sing  under  his  own  name.  When  he 
croons  under  Denny's  name  he  kindles  the  divine  hope  in  female 
breasts  clear  across  this  palpitating  country.  But  Denny  receives  all 
the  credit.  This  hoax  destroys  Duffy's  personal  love  life  and  results 
in  a  conspiracy  inside  Station  WWVW.  As  a  sort  of  undercurrent  to 
the  narrative  it  introduces  satiric  bits  about  the  buncombe  of  radio 
broadcasting.  The  play  offers  fine  opportunities  for  the  introduction 
of  musical  numbers  and  comedy  acts. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  farcical  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Ian  Hay  and  Stephen 
King-Hall.  Produced  originally  at  the  Times  Square 
Theatre,  New  York.  9  males,  6  females.  Modern  costumes 
and  naval  uniforms.  2  interior  scenes. 

During  a  reception  on  board  H.  M.  S.  "Falcon,"  a  cruiser  on  the 
China  Station,  Captain  Randall  of  the  Marines  has  become  engaged  to 
Fay  Eaton,  and  in  his  enthusiasm  induces  her  to  stay  and  have  dinner 
in  his  cabin.  This  is  met  with  stern  disapproval  by  Fay's  chaperon, 
Charlotte  Hopkinson,  who  insists  that  they  leave  at  once.  Charlotte, 
however,  gets  shut  up  in  the  compass  room,  and  a  gay  young  Ameri- 
can widow  accepts  the  offer  to  take  her  place,  both  girls  intending 
to  go  back  to  shore  in  the  late  evening.  Of  course,  things  go  wrong, 
and  they  have  to  remain  aboard  all  night.  By  this  time  the  Captain 
has  to  be  told,  because  his  cabin  contains  the  only  possible  accommo- 
dations, and  he  enters  into  the  conspiracy  without  signalling  the  Ad- 
miral's flagship.  Then  the  "Falcon"  is  suddenly  ordered  to  sea,  and 
the  Admiral  decides  to  sail  with  her.  This  also  makes  necessary  the 
turning  over  to  him  of  the  Captain's  quarters.  The  presence  of  the 
ladies  now  becomes  positively  embarrassing.  The  girls  are  bundled  into 
one  cabin  just  opposite  that  occupied  by  the  Admiral.  The  game  of 
"general-post"  with  a  marine  sentry  in  stockinged  feet  is  very  funny, 
and  so  are  the  attempts  to  explain  matters  to  the  "Old  Man"  next 
morning.  After  this  everything  ends  both  romantically  and  happily. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Myron  C.  Pagan.  Produced 
originally  at  the  Vanderbilt  Theatre,  New  York.  4  males, 
5  females.  2  interior  scenes.  Modern  costumes. 

Nothing  is  really  private  any  more — not  even  pajamas  and  bedtime 
stories.  No  one  will  object  to  Nancy's  private  affair  being  made  public, 
and  it  would  be  impossible  to  interest  the  theatre  public  in  a  more 
ingenious  plot.  Nancy  is  one  of  those  smart,  sophisticated  society 
women  who  wants  to  win  back  her  husband  from  a  baby  vamp.  Just 
how  this  is  accomplished  makes  for  an  exceptionally  pleasant  evening. 
Laying  aside  her  horn-rimmed  spectacles,  she  pretends  indifference  and 
affects  a  mysterious  interest  in  other  men.  Nancy  baits  her  rival  with 
a  bogus  diamond  ring,  makes  love  to  her  former  husband's  best  friend, 
and  finally  tricks  the  dastardly  rival  into  a  marriage  with  someone 

Mr.  Fagan  has  studded  his  story  with  jokes  and  retorts  that  will 
keep  anv  audience  in  a  constant  uproar. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Nat  N.  Dorfman.  Produced 
originally  at  the  48th  Street  Theatre  in  New  York. 
7  males,  6  females,  i  interior  scene.  Modern  costumes. 

Few  of  us  have  escaped  getting  our  fingers  burnt  in  the  crash  of 
the  stock  market,  and  even  those  of  us  who  have,  have  heard  enough 
about  it  to  take  a  sympathetic  and  amused  interest  in  the  doings  of 
Henry  Merrill  when  he  tries  to  buck  the  game  and  grow  rich.  The 
play  starts  just  two  months  before  the  crash.  Henry,  of  the  local 
soap  works,  is  so  heavy  an  investor  in  an  oil  stock  that  he  is  made 
a  thirty-sixth  Vice  President  of  the  Corporation.  Not  being  the  kind 
of  fellow  who  would  forget  his  friends  in  this  time  of  good  fortune, 
he  lets  them  all  in  on  the  good  thing.  Being  humanly  greedy,  the 
friends  jump  at  the  chance  to  profit.  ...  In  the  second  act,  after 
Henry's  daughter  has  eloped,  the  friends  are  presenting  Henry  with 
a  diamond-studded  wrist  watch,  as  a  token  of  their  esteem,  when 
news  comes  of  the  Wall  Street  upheaval  and  all  are  wiped  out.  Things, 
however,  are  not  as  bad  as  they  look,  for  Henry,  who  has  an  invention 
to  revolutionize  the  soap  industry,  sells  the  idea  for  a  large  price  and 
everything  is  all  right  again. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)   PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Myron  C.  Pagan.  Produced 
originally  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  New  York.  8  males,  6 
females,  i  interior  scene.  Modern  costumes. 

This  delightful  comedy  concerns  one  Peter  Turner  who  caddied 
for  the  Morgans,  the  Kahns  and  the  Guggenheims  on  the  links  at 
Miami.  It  was  during  one  of  these  rounds  on  the  golf  links  that 
Peter  fell  over  and  killed  a  stray  dog.  The  local  paper  built  the  story 
up  so  that  Peter  becomes  a  nation-wide  hero  who  saved  the  lives  of 
many  people  by  strangling  a  mad  canine.  By  the  time  the  story 
reaches  his  home  town,  Rosedale,  New  Jersey,  Peter  has  become  the 
boon  companion  of  all  the  money  kings — at  least  in  the  public  mind 
— and  Peter  does  his  best  to  foster  the  deception.  Carried  away  by 
his  imagination  he  pretends  to  be  a  friend  of  the  great,  persuades  his 
brother-in-law  to  buy  an  option  to  a  ninety-acre  lot  on  the  assump- 
tion that  "Guggenheim"  is  to  build  a  golf  course  there,  obtains 
$10,000  from  the  local  banker  and  then  becomes  badly  involved  in  his 
deceptions.  After  Peter  endures  the  ridicule  of  his  townsfolk  and 
the  ire  of  the  banker  there  suddenly  appears  on  the  scene  a  represen- 
tative of  "Guggenheim"  who  wants  the  acreage  not  for  a  golf  course 
but  an  air  field,  and  promptly  turns  over  a  check  for  $75,000  for 
a  part  of  it. 

(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)   PRICE  75  CENTS. 


A  character  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Pauline  Phelps  and 
Marion  Short.  6  males,  5  females,  i  interior.  Modern  cos- 

This  modern  comedy  deals  with  the  advent  of  elderly  Uncle  Job 
into  the  home  of  the  Benson  family,  already  struggling  to  make 
both  ends  meet,  and  who  therefore  extend  him  a  somewhat  grudging 


Uncle  Job,  blithely  unconscious  of  being  considered  an  intruder, 
.< .  ith  the  belief  that  he  is  about  to  make  a  fortune  in 
some  mysterious  way  which  he  declines  to  Cantankerous  and 
irritating,  he  proceeds  to  antagonize  the  Iknsons'  rich  aunt,  the 
only  one  able  to  befriend  the  family  in  case  of  need,  and  whose 
good  will  has  been  carefully  cultivated. 

Just    when    Uncle   Job's    actions    become   so   erratic    that    the    aunt 

he   be   sent   to  an    asylum,    the   Benson   boy  gets   into   a   serious 

md  to  the  surprise  of  the  entire  family,   it  is  Uncle  Job  who 

comes    to    the    rescue,    in    a    comical    though    highly    practical    way. 

Later,    Uncle   Job   makes   good    on    his    apparently    chimerical    scheme 

for  achieving  wealth,  and  becomes  the  savior  of  the  family. 

(Royalty,   ten   dollars.)    PRICE    50  CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Marie  Doran.  5  males,  8 
females,  i  interior,  i  exterior.  Modern  and  fancy  cos- 

The  story  deals  with  young  people  in  a  co-ed  school  where  a 
substantial  tuition  is  charged.  The  heroine,  Doris  Green,  is  anxious 
to  enter  the  school  to  complete  her  studies,  after  which  she  hopes 
to  engage  in  social  service  work.  Doris,  an  orphan  living  with  her 

rinds  all  her  ambitious  plans  are  interrupted  when  the  family 
income  is  abruptly  cut  off.  Doris  calls  at  the  school — not  for  the 
purpose  of  entering  Miss  Frascr's  class,  but  to  bid  good-bye.  The 
story  of  her  disappointment  reaches  friendly  ears,  as  well  as  some 
who  are  not  so  well  disposed  toward  Doris.  The  friends  rally  to  aid 

.dy  to  combat  the  opposition,  and  the  battle  is  on.  But  it's 
not  such  j  rough  war — it  has  many  kind  and  humorous  incidents. 
The  cumedv  i^  developed  around  this  situation,  with  our  heroine  the 
central  figure  in  the  clash.  Sympathetic  efforts  to  overcome  knotty 
difficulties  result  in  some  very  original  scenes  with  amusing  schemes 
on  the  part  of  the  hero,  Richard  Hunter,  his  pal  Phil  Martin,  and 
funny  Willy  Bright. 

Any  number  of  young  people  may  appear  in  the  fancy  dress 
scene,  and  singing  and  dancing  may  be  introduced. 

(Royalty,    ten   dollars.)    PRICE    50   CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Wilbur  Braun.  j  males,  6 
females,  i  interior.  Modern  Costumes. 

When  Samuel  Phelps  returns  to  his  home  after  a  business  trip 
bringing  with  him  one  of  the  greatest  baseball  players  in  the  United 
States,  interest  runs  riot.  Especially  since  "Dizzy  Wynne,"  the  base- 
ball player  in  question,  has  saved  Phelps'  life.  "Dizzy"  has  been 
invited  to  stay  for  dinner,  but  after  catching  a  glimpse  of  charm- 
ing Lois  Phelps  he  decides  to  make  it  an  extended  visit.  Russell  Swade, 
a  typical  American  youth,  is  in  love  with  Lois,  but — poor  fellow — 
what  chance  has  he  got  against  the  famous  "Dizzy"?  You  will  thrill 
with  surprise  at  the  novel  last  act  wherein  a  baseball  game  is 
enacted  before  your  very  eyes.  You  will  howl  with  glee  at  Minnie 
Hanks,  the  maid  in  Phelps'  household,  at  Mrs.  Lavinia  Phelps  who 
has  never  seen  a  ball  game  in  her  life,  and  who  is  superstitious  to 
a  degree,  you  will  chuckle  heartily  at  the  supreme  egotism  of 
"Dizzy"  Wynne.  Sure  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular  plays  of  the 

(Royalty,   ten   dollars.)    PRICE   50   CENTS. 


A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Charles  George.  4  males  and  7 
females,  i  very  simple  interior  setting.  Modern  costumes. 

The  Cooper  family  consisted  of  a  widowed  mother  and  her  two 
children,  Katharine,  aged  eighteen,  and  William,  aged  sixteen.  Their 
entire  life  had  been  a  struggle  for  a  bare  existence.  Mrs.  Cooper 
made  and  sold  potato  chips  and  Katharine  made  a  candy  that  had 
achieved  fame  in  their  town  as  "Kitty's  Kisses,"  which  were  sold 
at  a  local  candy  store  run  by  a  young  man,  whom  everyone  sup- 
posed Kitty  would  marry  one  day.  But  he  had  ideas  of  wealth  and 
social  position  and  had  shifted  his  affections  to  the  daughter  of  a 
wealthy  man.  Life  seemed  colorless  and  drab  for  Kitty,  when  sud- 
denly they  were  informed  that  their  father's  brother  had  .died  in 
the  far  West  and  that  they  were  the  heirs  to  his  fortune.  In  an 
instant,  everything  changed  for  the  Coopers.  Shops  begged  them  for 
accounts.  They  had  arrived.  During  a  stay  at  a  summer  camp,  Kitty 
had  met  a  young  man  whom  she  liked.  He  was  a  quiet,  unassuming 
chap,  presumably  very  poor. 

A  later  will  left  by  the  Coopers'  uncle  is  discovered,  wherein  all 
his  money  is  left  to  charity  and  they  are  right  back  where  they 
started.  Their  credit  is  withdrawn  and  their  newly  made  friends  cut 
them.  They  face  life,  once  again,  with  poverty  staring  them  in  the 
face  when  the  poor  boy  turns  out  to  be  the  son  of  a  very  wealthy 
family,  and  learning  of  their  misfortune,  proposes  to  Kitty  and  all  ends 

(Royalty,   ten   dollars.)    PRICE   50   CENTS.